


Mischances and Reversals

by Tethys_resort



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Accidents, Beleriand, Diplomacy, Disasters, F/M, Getting to Know Each Other, Gwaith-i-Mírdain, Hot Air Balloons, Lindon (Tolkien), M/M, Making Friends, Sailing To Valinor, Second Age, Training, inventions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:34:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26409574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tethys_resort/pseuds/Tethys_resort
Summary: Prince Thranduil’s continuing adventure of settling into life in Lindon.
Relationships: Elrond Peredhel & Erestor & Glorfindel, Elrond Peredhel & Thranduil, Erestor/Glorfindel (Tolkien), Thranduil/Thranduil's Wife
Comments: 10
Kudos: 33





	1. Gil-galad – I don’t know why I expected anything different.

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings: accidents and mishaps.
> 
> As always, please let me know if you have questions.

Thranduil turned and stared one last time at the hills rising above the ruins of Lindon. It had been so long that even the hills had changed, eroded into sharp edged cliffs and jagged outcrops of rock. 

“She’ll be fine.” His wife sounded serene, with a hint of the excitement she was broadcasting down their bond. 

Thranduil smiled. “She had better be, I put a lot of work into my Heir.” He turned and walked toward the boat, stepping around the elves carefully preparing it for departure. The capital of Lindon was gone as if it had never been, and only this little port town remained. 

“Wasn’t the Palace that way?” 

Thranduil didn’t look back. “It is gone now.” The great waves had taken most of it, and he had no desire to see a pile of dead stone. “And it’s people are on the other shore.”

***

The view of snow covered bushes and carefully swept grounds rocked again and he sighed. He had been doing well in at least the archery sections of the course until his foot slipped.

“Hold still.” Lord Glorfindel sounded annoyed but not particularly strained by the effort of hanging midair and using one hand to hold an entire elf from splatting to the ground at the bottom of the obstacle course. Which was truthfully a relief to the elf in question.

Thranduil obediently went more limp. 

Hanging upside down, held by the harness holding his arrow quiver, was not a dignified position but he didn’t really have much other choice. At least the leather strapping was strong. 

Too bad he had rolled off the side, away from the nets.

Lord Elrond’s voice came quiet from lower and to one side in the course. “Celairil, Erestor, can you get up to the upper beam? See if you can unwind his hair? Everyone else stay still, I don’t want to jostle Glorfindel off his perch.”

Thranduil tried to think himself lighter. Discovering if he could dangle by his hair or simply rip out a portion of his scalp on his descent was a stomach churning set of options. 

He really couldn’t be blamed for balking at tying up his hair in such an undignified manner. 

He sighed.

To be fair, Lord Elrond and Lord Glorfindel had suggested several times over that he needed to tie back his hair. Lord Glorfindel’s Second had even offered a spare hair ribbon before he had joined them on the course. 

He had politely turned down the hair ribbon and valiantly tried to ignore the fact that it was the same shade of purple as the officer’s hair. 

Lord Glorfindel shifted and his view of the ground swayed. All his arrows were down there in a heap. Thranduil reminded himself that he lives in the Wood, and is not afraid of heights. 

From somewhere above him Steward Erestor quietly said, “Can you boost me up to that ledge? I think I can jump to the support pole and rope walk from there.” There were grunts of effort and a subtle grating noise as Lord Glorfindel’s leg hold shifted a little. 

Thranduil still hadn’t figured out how a paper pushing Steward had ended up in the advanced training group of Guard. He could only think that the tall skinny Noldor was there because his bond mate was stupidly in love. 

Not reassuring when the Steward is now the one responsible for freeing his hair. 

_My Lord Father,_

_Greetings from the Palace of Lindon. As the leaves have fallen here by the Sea and the snow only lightly covers the city of Lindon, I miss the colors of the Woodland Realm._

_My efforts to gain alliances with the Noldor lords have continued. As Lord Cirdan is unavailable much of the time due to his shipping interests, I have focused my attentions upon the Lord Herald Elrond Earendilion. The Noldor are as wrong-headed as you warned me, but I have persisted because Lord Elrond is the Herald of Lindon and is universally held to have the largest and best trained group of soldiers outside of the Armies of Lindon. It took all of my abilities of persuasion, but my men and I have been allowed to join the trainings led by a reborn elf, the famous Lord Glorfindel of the House of Golden Flower of Gondolin, who apparently sailed from Valinor to join the House of Elrond. Lord Glorfindel is an elf lord immense in dignity and power, and universally acknowledged to be a supreme war commander._

_Lord Glorfindel’s training methods are vastly different from our own, but I believe them to contain the occasional kernel of benefit. The House of Elrond Guards are a diverse group with many Feanorians, but carefully managed and controlled into a dangerous and valuable asset of Lindon._

_I am gaining much experience in diplomacy and learning more every day about the different alliances and cultural groups present in Lindon and appreciate more and more your foresight and wisdom in sending me as an envoy._

_With best wishes for Midwinter and many fond regards._

_Thranduil Oropherion, written on this 3 rd day of the waxing half-moon in Lindon_

Thranduil proof read his page a few more times before copying it out neater into fine parchment and sealing it. Lord Galion looked up from his desk. “Shall it go out with the regular correspondence your Highness?”

Thranduil nodded, “Yes, there is nothing in there that warrants a special courier and I would rather keep all of my guards here.”

Lord Galion nodded in understanding. “They’ve been giving me reports on the training. I think we can modify quite a lot to the patrols in the Wood.” 

The whole idea had been to work his way into Lord Elrond’s good graces and find out a little more about how the House of Elrond trained and maintained the largest group of soldiers outside of the Army of Lindon. 

“If the isolationists don’t balk at doing something so distinctly Noldor as group training.” Thranduil had to admit that while the Wood’s archery and tracking skills made the Noldor look like the Aftercomers, the group trainings seemed to have distinct advantages. 

Both Thranduil and Lord Galion had quickly realized that some sort of regular training (at least of the younger elves) would cut down on the death toll in patrols. Too many young elves died before they could gain the experience necessary for survival. 

Lord Elrond had turned out to be an incredibly easy going elf lord.

He patiently accepted the Embassy of the Greenwood at his game nights and Thranduil’s regular appearance at meals and social occasions. Thranduil had originally intended to order Lord Elrond to allow his soldiers to train with the Guard, but thought better of it when he considered that asking politely had garnered better results before. (And he had the suspicion that King Gil-galad would disapprove.) 

Lord Elrond, unlike any Lord Thranduil could name in the Wood, had not demanded a return favor or bribe. He had simply raised an eyebrow and granted permission when Thranduil had politely asked if his soldiers could train with the Guard. Customs were so different here that Thranduil hadn’t yet decided if that was a minor show of Elrond’s status, or if a favor would be asked down the road. 

There had been several injuries, but the soldiers had enthused happily when he had interrogated them about the training methods. Lord Elrond hadn’t had any expression at all when Thranduil had joined them at the obstacle course this morning. In retrospect, that may have meant that he was allowed to join on good grace. 

He may have horribly failed at good graces for today. 

It turns out that Lord Elrond can do amazingly scathing expressions with just his eyebrows. 

Thranduil sighed and shrugged to himself as he opened a bottle of wine. At least Lord Glorfindel had truly impressive reflexes. And at least Steward Erestor was just as light footed an elf as someone tied to an obstacle course by their hair could have hoped. 

He took a large swallow of wine. And then a second for good measure before looking for a proper glass. 

At least, he was impressed. The Steward had managed to climb up as well as any Silvan or Folk of the Trees and cut his hair right next to the bracket it was tangled around. With his hair free, Lord Glorfindel had simply flung him like an elfling to Lord Elrond. (Who had ignored his own bloody nose from the impact to haul him off to the Healing Hall and inspect for damage.)

With any luck, he would not return to the Woodland Realm for a decade or so yet. Long enough for it to grow back properly. He could only imagine what decent company would think of the cut section.

***

“Your Majesty, I bring Midwinter greetings from Eregion and the Realm of Khazad-dum.” 

King Gil-Galad watched Lord Celebrimbor bow and couldn’t help but contrast it with Prince Thranduil’s arrival in the late summer. His upbringing in the courts of Valinor and Nargothrond certainly showed in his ability to bow the perfect distance to show supreme respect for the Court of Lindon while making it obvious that he was the ruler of a country as powerful as Eregion. 

Quite a difference from Prince Thranduil. Prince Thranduil and his retinue were standing to the right, alongside Elrond’s House. 

Glancing over for the reactions, Gil-galad stifled a snort. The House of Elrond was in its usual (somehow always cheerful with Lord Glorfindel standing in the middle) order, the Prince’s retinue was in rigid (but always slightly confused looking) formality, but the Prince himself looked unutterably bored with the proceedings. 

But Lord Celebrimbor was continuing. “Your Majesty, I have created great devices capable of lifting Elves far into the sky for surveying, scouting battle lines or communication over vast distances.” He gave a bright smile to the court at large, “They could even be modified into floating command posts or shipping rare goods safely!”

Gil-galad had the feeling that Lord Celebrimbor’s presence was directly related to the previous “world altering invention”. It had taken the House of Elrond weeks to chase the stupid walking garden huts down. And he had received a nasty letter from King Amroth of Lothlorien about littering.

Not to mention, “floating command post” sounded much like “giant floating target in the sky”.

“My King, on the behalf of cooperation and friendship between Lindon and Eregion I wanted you to receive these latest inventions directly, before rumors could spread.”

Yep, definitely a reaction to the walking greenhouse incident. He suspected he should thank Lord Celebrimbor for the presence of Prince Thranduil in his court too: there had to be a reason that the reclusive King Oropher had suddenly decided that there needed to be an Envoy in Lindon. 

Just as well, the Woodland Realm would be too isolated but not isolated enough when Sauron reappeared. Best at least the Heir to the Woodland Realm be accustomed to a certain level of communication with the Noldor. Gil-galad considered it a stroke of luck that he had managed to convince Prince Thranduil that he should send his soldiers to train with Lord Glorfindel. 

Prince Thranduil sighed deeply. His sagging shoulders drew attention to his hair as the tips waved and made it that much more obvious that one solid chunk in the middle of the side facing him was 5 inches shorter. 

Internally he laughed: even with it done on Elrond’s orders, Prince Thranduil might never forgive Erestor the insult.

***

Lunch the next day found Lord Celebrimbor and a selected team of the Gwaith-i-Mirdain out in the large open area of one of the Palace pastures, piecing together the floating command platform. So far it seemed to consist of a very large but carefully sealed and calked wicker basket and an enormous collection of paper lacquered onto fine silk backing. Thin rope from the Golden Wood ran everywhere. 

Erestor stood next to Elrond and Glorfindel, well back from the action but close enough to observe. As Elrond put it, “It’ll be nice to see how the injuries happened.”

“How do you suppose he intends to get it to float?” Erestor couldn’t see any particular wings or potential explosions so far, and was unsure how it would get off the ground without either.

Glorfindel looked interested and Erestor said down their bond, _“I hope you do not intend to volunteer to join this stunt.”_

_“After the huts? No. Even if it actually floats I haven’t noticed a way of steering it yet. If it gets away, you would be retrieving me from the Vingilote.”_

Erestor paused as he considered that one. _“Maybe you should go. I don’t think Elrond has any real memories of Lord Earendil and you might convince him to visit and rectify the situation.”_

Glorfindel snorted, and Elrond glanced over at him. “No one in the House of Elrond is getting on that thing.” 

Thranduil and his quasi-Steward, Lord Galion, walked up as Elrond made his pronouncement. 

Galion jumped on the comment. “Are Lord Celebrimbor’s experiments usually that dangerous? Why does the King not order him to cease?”

Glorfindel said down their bond. _“Hmm… Tell the grandson of Feanor not to invent? He was building stuff like this as an elfling. I have to admit, the explosions have gotten louder.”_ Erestor could see a picture in his head of a tiny black haired elfling running past with a bucket of gears and a coil of wire over one arm.

_“I still can’t tell how he intends to make it float….”_

Elrond said, “Lord Celebrimbor and the Gwaith-i-Mirdain have created some truly marvelous inventions.” 

_“And also the Rings. I’m not sure where the walking greenhouses fit on the scale.”_ Erestor could feel the ripple of amusement from Glorfindel. 

Thranduil frowned at the construction zone. “But this is not dangerous?”

Elrond shrugged, “Probably not. Lord Celebrimbor does extensive testing on all of his creations.”

Glorfindel said, _“Yes, and sometimes it blows up during testing.”_

The floating device was coming together and it was clear that it was a giant balloon. Or perhaps a version of the paper lamps set free to float towards Valinor during festivals in Numenor. Erestor noticed a brazier sort of affair being set up to sit above the wicker basket, possibly to act as a heat source for the paper and silk lamp. He hoped that Celebrimbor had Sung the whole mess to be fireproof. Or at least had brought some buckets of water. 

As the Gwaith-i-Mirdain staked out the basket to anchor ropes and began to arrange the lamp in position, Celebrimbor trotted back with a huge grin. “Cousin! We are about to do a test run. Would you like to join us?”

Elrond smiled. “No, thank you. I will watch from here a little and then I have a shift in the Healing Halls.”

Thranduil straightened and said, “No doubt everyone else will have excuses as well?” He was looking down his nose with a certain amount of distaste. 

Erestor had to admit that in mountaineering gear, Lord Celebrimbor was an unusual sight for the Palace, but supposed that the air up in the sky was cold. He said, “Lord Celebrimbor, how were the test flights in Ost-in-Edhil?”

“Cold! But the view was incredible. We are doing some measurements while we are up there today so only have room for a few people.” The grin got wider. “In a day or so would you all like to go up?”

Erestor was absolutely certain that lofting through the sky had never been one of his ambitions. (In fact, had had nightmares of this very scenario after seeing the Vingilote fly over Amon Ereb the first night.) Elrond smiled though and said, “Prince Thranduil, why don’t you go? It would be truly unique to see the Palace and Lindon from the sky.”

Prince Thranduil looked like he wanted to say no, so Erestor added, “If you are afraid of heights or the open air, it is best to stay down here.”

_“Erestor? Are you baiting Thranduil?”_ Glorfindel sounded both amused and slightly concerned.

_“Of course…”_ Out loud he continued. “There is no help for it if the concept makes you uneasy. As Heir and Ambassador for the Woodland Realm you shouldn’t do things that risk your person anyways.”

Galion looked much relieved at Erestor’s calm statement but Thranduil stared at the basket. 

“Prince Thranduil, I would deeply welcome your presence! I have room for two passengers this flight.” Celebrimbor had a look of innocent glee. “Please, join me!”

As Thranduil and Galion climbed into the basket next to Celebrimbor and the Gwaith-i-Mirdain, Elrond whispered, “You just had to egg him into floating around the sky all afternoon while Celebrimbor conducts endless tests?”

Erestor whispered back, “And bores everyone in listening range to tears with a long lecture on this floating command post of his.”

Galion was turning funny shades of grayish green as the lamp floated gently upward but Thranduil had a small smile of delight. 

Glorfindel muttered, “I bet the view is nice up there though. We’ll have to try it when Celebrimbor isn’t going to be up there for hours and hours on tests and has gotten the lecture out of his system.”

Erestor responded down their bond, _“Since you have apparently not gotten heights out of your system, you can go up and I’ll just watch the view through your eyes?”_

Glorfindel smiled.

As the lamp steadily rose, it took a few moments for the ground crew of the Gwaith-i-Mirdain to realize that the stakes anchoring the lamp to the ground were beginning to pull out. The giant metal stakes came loose with gentle popping noises and began to drag off across the grounds, catching in bushes and ripping them up to drag in the lamp’s wake. 

Elrond, Glorfindel and Erestor watched with bemused horror as the lamp drifted off toward the Palace with its large vulnerable windows.

There was shouting from the speck of lamp in the sky and the ropes fell down, cut. The lamp rose higher and began to drift rapidly toward the harbor. Glorfindel shook his head and said, “Three teams of Guard? One for the docks, the other two north and south of the Great Bay?”

“I agree. I’ll lead the dock team. Don’t forget funds in case we have to rent a fishing boat or something.”

Glorfindel trotted off toward the Guard room to gather supplies and a small rescue mission, leaving Elrond and Erestor to stand and watch the lamp slowly drift West over the harbor. It had caught a wind and was definitely headed for the open water. Elrond sighed and said, “Erestor, can you manage the House while we’re gone?”

“Yes.” Erestor would like to ride out, but someone has to watch the House. And this way he will escape the Prince’s undoubtedly damaged ego. 

Attracted by the yelling of the Gwaith-i-Mirdain still on the ground, Gil-galad and his bodyguards joined them. Gil-galad stood and watched the lamp for a moment before he said, “That was Celebrimbor’s ‘floating observation post’?” 

“Yes, apparently it didn’t have enough anchors.” Aware of all the Palace-folk staring at the party, Elrond tried not to laugh. 

Gil-galad squinted. “I see Lord Celebrimbor, two Gwaith-i-Mirdain, Prince Thranduil and Lord Galion.”

Elrond sighed, and Erestor could only agree: no matter how this turned out there would be political trouble. Trying to keep the occupants of the balloon a secret would be hopeless and pointless. 

Elrond said, “Yes, Lord Glorfindel has gone to organize a rescue mission. Hopefully Celebrimbor manages to land the balloon near shore.” He paused. “Before we have to explain to King Oropher that Prince Thranduil has accidentally Sailed for Valinor.”

Gil-galad winced. “No, I would prefer to avoid that explanation.”


	2. Thranduil – In retrospect, I think my Lord Father expected me to hate them all.  He was wrong.

Even the stars over Beleriand had changed since he had seen it last above the waves. The air was still and warm, and the current moved with a subtle swish that sounded like the wind in trees against the side of the boat. 

He hadn’t really gotten a chance to say goodbye to Beleriand, not the way he had the Greenwood. 

Thranduil shifted in his seat on the decorative headpiece at the front of the boat (he was certain it had some other name, but why should he learn the parts of boats?) and looked down into the dark water. A face smiled back and he blinked, surprised, before smiling in return and waving in greeting. 

The Maia leapt from the water to sit next to him. Her hair slithered under its own power to embrace her naked body, giving her the appearance of an elfling wearing a hooded robe of crinkled red seaweed. “Prince Thranduil! Greetings, are you lost again?”

Thranduil snorted and said, “I am Sailing, my friend. How fares Beleriand?” He turned at the muffled gasp and smiled at his wife. “Lastini, my love, come meet a friend I made long ago.”

***

Thranduil was having a wonderful time. 

For an unexpected adventure, so far his floating ride was quite entertaining. He stared down at the water in fascination. From this height the waves looked like pond ripples. Pond ripples with distinct white caps. There were great schools of fish and the water slowly changed color as they got farther from the shore. 

The pod of dolphins had been an unexpected treat. 

When the stakes had pulled out, and the giant paper lamp lurched skyward, Lord Celebrimbor had spit out a whole series of things in Quenya that Thranduil strongly suspected to be profanity. He and his two helpers from the Gwaith-i-Mirdain immediately started fiddling with some sort of control box. Right now, its pieces were spread across the floor as they babbled at each other in Sindarin that might as well have been some other language between the atrocious accent and the rattle of unfamiliar words. 

Language issues aside, it was still easy enough to gather that Lord Celebrimbor and his smiths had not intended on this adventure. 

Lord Galion was sitting over in one corner, hunched up and turning slowly pale. Thranduil reflected that his Steward did not like boats, and this was essentially a large runaway boat. 

The waves were getting smaller with height and the air was cold. Lord Celebrimbor started unpacking one of a series of hampers and handed thick wool blankets out. He tried to hand one to Lord Galion and ended up simply wrapping it around his shoulders and tucking it in before murmuring something reassuring to the traumatized looking elf lord. 

When Lord Celebrimbor gave him a significant look (the eyebrows had to have been copied from Lord Elrond) and then stared down at Lord Galion shivering in his blanket, Thranduil realized he was failing in one of his duties. He sorted through the list: safe enough for now, blanket… What would his father do? 

Or, maybe, what would Lord Elrond do? Or Lord Glorfindel? 

He slid down neatly next to Lord Galion and tentatively wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Lord Galion was shaking, and in close contact Thranduil could feel the cold, mindless terror. He tightening his grip, and whispered, “Lord Galion, I am quite sure that the Noldor do not have a death wish and we will be fine.”

Lord Galion shot him a preeminently skeptical look but accepted the gesture, practically climbing into his arms. 

Thranduil pulled him closer into the hug, and whispered, “Please don’t throw up on me.” Lord Galion scowled back, momentarily distracted, but didn’t let go. 

Lord Celebrimbor gave him a small approving smile, and draped the last several spare blankets around both of them. He crouched down to talk to Thranduil but his comments were directed at Lord Galion. “Prince Thranduil, even if we must land in the water we will float. The basket is built like a boat. And Elrond saw the observation post float away, a rescue mission is most likely sailing behind us as we speak.”

“A rescue mission? Do your projects so often require them that Lord Elrond would have one ready prepared for this event?” Thranduil was vaguely amused to note that Lord Galion had actually managed to sound arrogant and controlled despite his current position. 

Lord Celebrimbor’s eyebrows went up but he still laughed. “Of course, this is part of being a maker! Fortunately, my cousin is remarkably good at contingency planning.” 

He slid gracefully from a crouch to a seated position in front of them. “Now, the Singing for the heat source will only last for five hours. More or less.” He waved a device at them. “It has been 1 hour 45 minutes so far since ignition. We are going to land the command post at 4 hours 15 minutes.”

“Why not now?” Lord Galion had let go his strangle hold to listen, and was managing to regain a position sitting next to Thranduil. He leaned back on the side of the basket. 

Celebrimbor pulled a hamper from a cubby in the side of the command post. “Because the sea currents could carry us just as fast, and at least this way we are very visible. Once we set down in the water we won’t be able to take off again.” He fished through the basket. “Here, wine?”

Three hours later, Thranduil was beginning to think he liked Lord Celebrimbor. True, the Noldor lord was both a Feanorian and completely crazy, but he had a mad experimental streak that was fascinating. He seemed to view life with the same daring as the best of the Woodland soldiers and Lords. Except that instead of breeding elk or carnivorous plants, he was building devices. And he had good taste in wine.

Lord Celebrimbor even had a slate to explain his equations. Thranduil had made no progress on understanding the Singing, but admired the determined enthusiasm of the lesson. 

The balloon had been slowly losing height over the hours and very gently set down into the water despite the cautions and preparations of Lord Celebrimbor and his smiths. It seemed what Lord Celebrimbor built, he either built brilliantly well or as a brilliant failure – nothing in between. 

Wearing his float device strapped around his torso like an arrow quiver, Lord Galion stared over the side. In the hours aloft (and a good portion of the wine) he had slowly lost his apprehension and was now staring over the side with slightly glassy eyes. “If we are to be stranded at Sea, does Lord Celebrimbor have an equation to deal with more food and wine?”

“I suspect that food will not be so much a problem as more water.” He pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders, the early winter dusk had fallen. 

Lord Galion stared at a school of flat shells propelling themselves past the stranded craft. They seemed to be all fan-shaped shell and glowing blue eyes, staring balefully as they went about their errands propelled by rapid snaps of their shells. “What do the fish eat out here?”

“The same as land things I suppose do? Each other?” The light breathy voice did not belong to any passengers of the (still floating, but in not the same way) command post. “All living things must eat.”

“My lady, greetings.” Amused, Thranduil noticed that there was actually something in Arda that could cow Lord Celebrimbor. The two delicate hands, dark red hair and Elvish face peering over the edge of the basket had certainly managed. 

The Maia that lived in the Greenwood (away from the dangerous sections at least) were a mixture of mischievous and playful, making up silly rhymes and occasionally leading travelers off in circles. He had heard that the sea Maia could be deadly. 

Despite the expression Lord Celebrimbor’s face, this one seemed more playful than dangerous. She laughed, “Greetings and good evening. Are you Sailing?”

Lord Galion muttered, “Hopefully not.”

“Alas, my lady. We are lost.” Maybe he could charm the creature into helping them? Or at least not assisting in a sudden departure to the Halls of Mandos? He glanced about, the Maia of the Wood are always fond of bribes. “If you would like to come aboard, it is a poor table but we have bread and cheese, and cookies left.”

The being slithered forward over the side. She landed with a tiny thump of two very Elvish feet and her seaweed hair wound itself around her as she sat. “What are cookies?”

Lord Galion muttered, “I hope you know what you’re doing your Highness,” and started sorting through the closest hamper. 

Thranduil doubted that the two or three cookies left were enough bribe for the next stage of his plan. But they were a major success in terms of getting the being’s happy attention. Now, for the next bribe. “My lady, do you often visit those who are Sailing?”

“Noooo….” She chortled at the cookie for a moment. “I wanted to see why your boat is so funny!”

He put on his best smile. “It is meant as a sky boat, rather than the regular sort. But we had a mishap and accidentally floated away from Lindon this morning.” He sighed wistfully. “It is a good thing Varda’s stars are so pretty this time of year, since it looks as though it will be a while before our rescue comes.”

He risked a glance away from the sky, over his silent audience and at the Maia. Even elves of the Greenwood occasionally forget that even the youngest, most playful and friendly seeming Maia is a deadly creature older than the oldest Elf. 

Thranduil had no intention of forgetting. 

Her eyes glittered under the stars. “Oh?”

“In fact, they might not find us ever. Leaving us at your mercy. Unless…” 

“Unless?” The Maia leaned forward. “What would make them come?”

Thranduil laughed internally; this was easy. Externally, he shrugged and leaned back against the basket wall, hands behind head. “I guess we will have to wait and see. While we are waiting we will have to tell stories and sing songs.” He paused for effect, “I think I’ll start.”

***

Cirdan admired the stars. The still, cold night made the watch rotation a treat. With the setting of the Moon, the stars were almost as bright as he remembered them from before the advent of both Sun and Moon. He huffed out a laugh, over time the positions of the dancers had changed a little and it wasn’t exactly the same sky.

His wife came out from finishing up the last of the day’s log. “Watching the stars again?” She leaned against him, warm in the dark and content in silence.

There was the minor slap of a body against the side of the ship directly below their railing and Cirdan leaned over to look. 

A small Maia smiled back up at him. “Lord Cirdan! I was looking for you. Prince Thranduil promised all of us stories and songs from dusk to dawn one night if we could bring a boat to him.”

Cirdan wondered why the Prince suddenly wanted a boat. “He did?”

***

The harbor watch had given the Palace enough warning for King Gil-galad to bring down an entourage to greet the returning fleet. Elrond had taken every seaworthy boat in the harbor that flew a Lindon flag. Lord Cirdan’s ship was at the front though, aimed for the Royal dock, and the other ships were returning to their original berths. 

Gil-galad stared at the ship, snickered and then began to laugh. He turned to Erestor standing behind him. “Do you suppose Lord Cirdan told the Prince that he was setting the “large fish catch” and “diplomatic mission” pennants on the mast?”

***

Thranduil stared at the draft and then beckoned Lord Galion over. “What do you think?”

“You can’t spell, but it’ll work.”

_My Lord Father,_

_Midwinter greetings from the Palace of Lindon._

_I only wrote a few days ago but am writing on the behalf of Lord Cirdan and Lord Elrond who send this gift of Noldor textiles and seasonal greetings._

_This week I met Lord Celebrimbor Curufinion, Ruler of Eregion. I have joined him for several social outings since his arrival. He is the truest of Noldor lords, always making, tinkering and organizing everything into straight lines. I have been informed that Ost-in-Edhil is a marvel of inventions but full of dwarves. I have no desire to see it._

_He is closely tied to Lord Herald Elrond though, even calling him “Cousin”, so I have made every effort to be friendly and develop a relationship and ties. I think you would be modestly pleased with my successes._

_With greatest respect and sincerity, Happy Midwinter._

_Your son,_

_Thranduil_

That evening he called the entire embassy together. He stared across the small crowd and said, “If my Lord Father the King hears about the floating command post incident we will probably be recalled.”

The entire group looked a little stricken. Good, Thranduil had noticed that the soldiers were enjoying their practices. And he had figured that the scribes were in raptures over the library – it is bigger than anything the Woodland Realm offers and yet contains none of the Silvan or Avari classics. That is something else he’ll have to work on rectifying. Perhaps he’ll ask Lord Elrond if they can make some book trades?

First though, to make sure they all get to stay in Lindon. “Therefore, we will NEVER tell.”

Which reminded him, he had promised the Maia that he would bring music and tales back to the rocky point at the end of the docks. He needs to go talk to that little minstrel. He’ll collect Lord Elrond first so it doesn’t look like intimidation. It should be simple enough to hire Lindir and the other minstrels of the House of Elrond: a fat performance fee and the promise of having all charges dropped so that Lindir could safely visit his parents in the Greenwood should do it.

He had already made arrangements to remove the spurious charges against Lindir, but Lindir didn’t need to know that. 

***

“Why are my soldiers carrying kites?” Thranduil had come to watch them drill more but was a little baffled that each had their own wood and paper creation. Winter is the perfect season to fly kites, but he wasn’t certain why Lord Glorfindel would set it as a task to his soldiers.

Lord Glorfindel glanced at him. “Does the Woodland Realm use shields?”

“No. What use would they be in the Wood?” 

“That explains it. The kites are meant as fake shields until they stop accidentally hitting each other.” 

“Why in the name of the Wood do they need to use shields?” He had understood the teamwork part: it was a major reason he was agreeing to this. Swimming lessons had turned out to be vital. And horseback riding could only be helpful, even if most of the Houses of the Wood did not have horses for lack of safe pasture. Shields were completely pointless. Shields of any sort would most likely be simply a burden and probably get the elf in question killed when it caught on something.

Lord Glorfindel sighed and Thranduil had the sudden creeping sensation that the elf lord was recalculating his intelligence. Downward. “What? The Wood is full of trees, and a shield like that is only a burden!”

Lord Glorfindel rolled his eyes, stuck two fingers into his mouth and whistled. The tone dipped and swooped like one of the Woodland patrol calls. From the far side of the field, the House of Elrond Guard unit in sword practice came over. The leader bowed and said, “Captain? What can we do for you?”

“Shield drill. Split the group in half.” Lord Glorfindel turned to Thranduil as the Guards trotted off. “This will take a moment to set up.”

“What are you doing?” The cheery Noldor accent was behind them and Thranduil looked over to see Lord Celebrimbor and Steward Erestor walking up. 

“Object lesson with kite shields.” The Guard unit was trotting back.

Lord Celebrimbor grinned. “Wonderful! May we join you?” He and Steward Erestor crowded into Thranduil and Lord Glorfindel’s personal space and he frowned at the lack of dignity.

Before he could speak though, they were ringed by the Guards with shields and Lord Glorfindel yelled, “One volley. Release!”

The sound of the arrows was deafening and Thranduil jumped. Lord Glorfindel commented, “Any time you have rains of arrows, shield formations are excellent.” He paused to yell, “Attack at will.”

The outer ring of Guard charged and Lord Glorfindel had to raise his voice over the sound of swords hitting metal. “Traditional shield walls are excellent for open field maneuvers. You may not have open ground for traditional shield walls but the smaller formations are used to protect a person or item of high target value. A soldier with a shield can defend an alley or corridor and soldiers trained to use them can also protect each other against something larger and heavier, such as trolls, Wargs and even smaller dragons.”

As he spoke, he handed Steward Erestor his practice sword. 

The formally robed Steward whipped the blunt sword between the shields in a straight thrust and hit a Guard outside hard enough to knock her over retching despite the protection of armor. He whirled and repeated the attack twice more before the Guards could react and Lord Glorfindel dryly said, “And if the inside ring of the wall is armed, you can either go on the offence or hold out for reinforcements.” 

Lord Celebrimbor smiled wider, “This unit is doing an excellent job at footwork. Is this one of the advanced groups?”

Thranduil stared as Steward Erestor slid downward gracefully and tripped another Guard outside the ring. The downed Guards scrambled, trying to regain their footing in full armor. 

Lord Glorfindel and Lord Celebrimbor each grabbed Thranduil by a shoulder and yanked him two steps over as the ring of shields moved over the downed Guards. Steward Erestor prodded the one attacker who had not rolled out of the way fast enough. “You’re dead.”

The Steward looked entirely unmoved by the exertion and Thranduil had the sudden sinking feeling that he had identified another of the old Feanorians. The Feanorian survivors of the First Age all seemed to be tireless, stubborn and extremely good fighters. (Thranduil could only presume that the less stubborn, and less-good fighters had ended up in the Halls rather than surviving the endless warfare and collapse of Beleriand.) That opinion only firmed more when the Steward abruptly proclaimed, “Morgoth’s balls! Its King Gil-galad with Aeglos.”

The formation broke and scuttled backwards attempting to reform as King Gil-galad rushed it with a giant spear. Lord Glorfindel and Lord Celebrimbor grabbed Thranduil between them and scuttled backward with the formation like a well-trained team. 

Thranduil said, “What happened to fending off attacks?” He winced as part of the Guards swept in from the sides and attacked the King. With his bodyguards behind him, King Gil-galad grinned and fended them off, the spear moving in great defensive arcs. 

Steward Erestor stared out the formation between the aligned shields. “No one wants to face that spear straight on, he hits like a Balrog.”

Thranduil could only think that the Noldor were all mad. 

It was probably the Oath. Or maybe the trip across the Grinding Ice.

The king laughed wildly outside the formation and Thranduil wondered if he was about to end up in the Healing Hall again with Lord Elrond frowning at him. 

It was quite disheartening. 

***

“Thranduil? You don’t mean that that silly story you used to tell the children about the elf king who accidentally floated away to Valinor was true?”

Thranduil smirked. “Yes, except it was a Prince of the Woodland Realm who was trying desperately to fit in in Lindon and please my father at the same time. And the checked fabric was truly appalling: only the Noldor would think that green, turquoise and purple were good together.”

Lastini started laughing, but leaned closer to him at the rail. “Your Lord Father…”

“Never would have understood, especially after we had survived Doriath. It was the turning point of my stay in Lindon though. After that I made friends and learned many things that would benefit the Greenwood later.” Thranduil smirked, “And I daresay King Gil-galad and Elrond learned just as much.” Thranduil had noticed the Wood influence in the building of Imladris. And without the Galadhrim, Imladris would not have survived either of the Sieges.

Unmentioned is the most important memory of all: A horrible day in Dagorlad that he would rather forget. 

In a mud pit turned killing field, Galion and a group of his soldiers had picked up shields lost by the orcs, bunched up, and bought themselves and his wife just enough time for Elrond and King Gil-galad to get there. 

Shaking off the memories he smiled at the Maia and his wife together, suddenly carefree. “I do have more stories to tell now. Would you like to hear?”

His wife started to laugh and the Maia squealed in glee, hair twining itself into knots. 

He pulled up his feet and reclined back into the front ornament of the boat. Lastini sat down beside him. 

“Many years ago, a group of 13 dwarves and a creature known as a hobbit crept into my woods. Now, those were dangerous days, with giant evil spiders and orcs creeping about as well. 

Oh the spiders? These were not your common sorts of spiders, the little house spiders that like corners or the hairy wolf spiders that live in the dead leaves. These spiders were born of a giant ancient evil that devoured endlessly. 

But, enough of spiders. 

Because of the evil, the wards of the forest were injured and blinded.

The dwarves were not evil (just foolish and greedy), and so they felt the dwarves but could not see them. But they did not feel the hobbit…”


End file.
